A thin, frail-looking human with short, black hair and tiny, black eyes peered into the camera as he spoke:“These three, throwbacks,” he said, his face visibly disgusted, “were found in possession of plans,” he raised his hand -- in his grip were flapping scraps of linens, “plans to subvert authority and to instill among us a new order founded on the seditious notions of their fellow cohorts.You may examine the evidence.”

The camera moved back from the close-up to take in a panoramic view of the glass-and-iron courtroom.

The man handed the ‘documents’ to a panel of six humans and six purebred Thunderians.Standing in the background were the alleged conspirators, naked but for loose loincloths, their faces above the shot on the screen to spare the sensitivities of the ultra-elite, to whom the judicial proceedings were being aired.Armed Thundercat guards surrounded the accused.

At the far end of the garden, away from the carnal worshipers, where the soil gave way to concrete, a thin door slid open and a lone figure entered the scene.He was a lion, mane dark red, long and flowing, fur a dense shade of tan-yellow.Silently and without fanfare he approached a fountain.Looking from side to side he saw before him the nude, convoluted bodies of humans and Thunderians on display -- his schoolmates slumbered, morbidly exhausted.

“What verdict reach you?”

The young lion peered up at the air-screen -- the image was sharp and so clear that the substance of the wall behind it was not visible.

“Guilty,” a woman said and in no particular order came the rest of the votes:

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

The man sighed and stepped back from the jury, dismissing them with the wave of the hand.“So be it,” he said at last as the twelve-member pool cleared the area.He turned to face the three condemned, imperfect Thunderians, whose heads a trick of the camera had chopped off, their massive musculature -- a quality of physique unknown to most of the inhabitants of the city -- was darkened with ash, glimmering with sweat, standing in direct defiance to their minuscule judge and -- “then by the powers granted to me by Phaeton, Lord of the Thundercats and Livia, Queen of the Amazons, I hereby sentence you to death.”

The cloudy images of the trial, fuzzy but distinct, were ‘broadcasted’ onto a circular pool through methods long ago made obsolete by mere technology.Glowing red eyes looked on in an odd mixture of happiness and despair -- as they had for centuries seemingly without end.The pictures faded into steam and, as the vast chamber plummeted into lengthening shades of darkness, a vile cackle shook the stony vault to its foundations.

The cloudy heights of the city were spanned by many tall buildings and enormous edifices.Rail tracks at every thousand feet and imposing highways transported the prosperous inhabitants of Metropolis to and from their professional jobs.Stratified from top to bottom were the different classes of Thunderians and humans and their cross breeds.The common folk.The nobles lived at the top and at the very top, in the tallest tower of them all, in a windowless room known only to a few, paced the most frightened man on Third Earth.

In the shadows, while a monitor in the distance played un-watched, he laid a hand on the Sword of Omens -- but its eye remained closed, providing no comfort.

The young lion sprayed his face with the clear water of the fountain.He caught only a passing, instant glimpse of himself before the turbulence of the rippling surface destroyed the unity of his reflection.Shadows lined his face around his nose and mouth.There were very few mirrors around -- his father hated mirrors -- and he seldom ever got a chance to look at himself.He wondered why he did not quite appear like his companions -- not the humans.His doctors had told him not to worry about it, that it was just a phase of self-consciousness that all adolescents went through.Yet he could not help but feel that there was more to it, that he was --

“Kara,” a soft voice called his name and he turned to the side.

Just under the sight of the air-screen -- that had at that very moment shown the smoky residue that was left of the executed subverters -- was a girl in her late teens, just a year older than him.She held a deep-red, purplish flower in fingers that she twiddled seductively.

“Mesilina,” he answered her.“I haven't seen you in a while.”

He gave her a friendly though timid smile as she came closer.

“I know, I know, I’ve been away for too long.My mother insists that I learn the old ways,” she snickered, eyes rolling.“As if we lived in trees or something.”

The two shared a slight, passing laugh.

She leaned forward.He grew tense, nervous that she might kiss him.Instead she wove the flower stem into his mane, over his right ear.

“Oh, you look so cute,” another female said -- a lioness and regular to the garden.

“Agripina,” Kara called her by name.

She hugged him -- he merely draped his arms over her back and no more.Her hands roamed about his fur, her well-defined claws met his flesh -- he shivered in shock at the intimacy of that unexpected contact.She giggled as if amused.

Sprawled on the grass, the other purebred Thunderians groaned quietly and looked away.The males especially had no real love or admiration for the lion -- reality, however, kept their tongues quiet, their contempt in check.It was not any single thing in particular -- no, it was just something odd about their would be --

“Hey!” one of the human boys shouted as he ran toward the lion, whose open, white robe fretted in the breeze.“You’re it!”He lightly tapped the feline’s wrist.

“I’m going to get you!” he roared as he ran after the naked teenager, letting his own garments fall to the grass.

Mesilina looked at the lioness.Agripina’s eyes had a certain glister.It was as if she knew something that the Warrior Maiden did not.